


The Involuntary Hug

by unholygrass



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blindness, Connor whump, Father-Son Relationship, Friendly Fire, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Panic Attacks, Poor Connor, Protective Hank Anderson, deafness, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 01:04:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15853074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unholygrass/pseuds/unholygrass
Summary: Hank finds a blind and deaf Connor locked in a shed after losing track of him for a few hours. Connor gets a very restrictive hug and a proper panic attack for his troubles.





	The Involuntary Hug

**Author's Note:**

> this is very messy drabble that I wrote for funzies and felt like I might as well post. It's super messy and has almost no plot and no ending :) sorry. Just wanted to share it.

It takes them forty minutes to find Connor, and that’s forty minutes too long. It takes them seven minutes from the substation, three to the cruisers, twelve to the river’s edge, and then 18 to the house. 

 

Technically it takes them another four to sweep through it and find the shed. There is no green light from central and no warrant to get them past the porch, but they go anyway. Hank is the first through the door and first to the backyard. There will be trouble from the judge later for quite blatantly fucking the law  _ and  _ their case, but the other victims had been gutted within the hour, and no one on the force is going to confess that there was no actual probable cause to get them inside when there was a chance Connor was crippled under some stranger’s metal bat. 

 

The shed has no lock. In fact, the door isn’t even latched. 

 

Hank’s in the middle of swinging the door open, Detective William’s heavy boots landing behind him when someone crashes into the trash cans against the fence, and they catch a glimpse of blue jeans vaulting up and away, sprinting down the street. 

 

Like magic, Hank is alone, the other first responders taken off like dogs on a hunt after their murderer. 

 

But Hank is not here for justice. He’s here for his boy. 

 

He ducks inside the shed, blinking rapidly against the thick dust and lack of sunlight. The place is tiny— splashes of blue standing out starkly on the walls— 

 

All at once there is a body shoved against his back, the weight of it is enough to send him stumbling forward into the cabinet tucked into the corner. His hand catches the edge and he curses as he feels a well aimed foot jam into the back of his knee, collapsing his leg before he has a chance to regain his balance. He twists just fast enough to avoid getting elbowed in the nose and his attacker goes sailing, slamming into the wall instead of his face. The resulting crash seems to stun him, giving Hank enough time to regain his footing and finally aim with his service weapon. 

 

But the kid struggling to pick himself off the cement is the very kid he was looking for. Connor’s normally gelled hair is wild, unruly curls falling lose as he recovered from bashing a hole in the concrete. He’s missing his sports jacket, white shirt torn open to show swimming patches of pasteel and projected skin drenched in blue blood. His feet are bare. 

 

“Connor— Fuckin’ shit, hey.” Hank doesn’t register reholstering his gun but he’s already against the kid’s side, strong hands reaching for bloodied arms— his fingertips only get the chance to brush against his shoulder before Connor throws himself backwards out of his reach, skull cracking against the wall with the force of it. It stuns Hank enough to freeze him, but not enough to halt Connor. His legs are tucked beneath him, and he uses them to shoot outwards, shoving Hank away with enough strength to nearly lay him flat on his back. The heavy  _ oof  _ pressed out of his lungs is half surprise, half pain, because he certainly hadn’t been expecting  _ that. _

 

He rolls before Connor lands, curses already flying. “Connor! What the fuck— stop!” The kid picks himself up, ready to attack again, crouched with his head tilted slightly to the side, hands held out in front of himself and ready to strike. “Connor!” 

 

But he’s not looking at Hank. Not even trying to. His brown eyes are blank and foggy, staring ahead dimly as he grows still, not leaving his spring-loaded position. He’s still perched on the balls of his feet, muscles bunched as he waited for a target to attack. It’s like he’s not aware of anything around him, even though he was ready to attack whoever was there. “Connor— knock it off! It’s Hank!” 

 

Connor doesn’t so much as twitch. 

 

Hank begins to realize that he was stuck with a terrified, hostile, blind, deaf, android. 

 

Hank moves, just barely, bringing an arm up as he prepared to try and get his attention, but it sets Connor off like a fucking firecracker. Hank lunges forward the same time Connor throws his fist back for a swing, narrowly avoiding the sucker punch as he wrapped his arms around Connor’s shoulders as tightly as he could, pulling him back against the wall for support so they didn’t both go crashing into the cement floor. He had Connor’s arms fairly pinned, but the brat uses a leg to push back and slam the sole of his shoe into Hank’s kneecap. It’s not enough to bring him down, but it does make him tighten his grip and drop them both to the ground where he could keep a better hold on him. 

 

Connor doesn’t have much room to fight on the ground, and he dissolves into a messy thrashing. His LED strobes an alarming crimson, and Hank can see Connor’s panic gripping him as his options for combat became limited— there were few situations that Connor couldn’t fight his way out of, it was something he relied on in his most desperate moments. Hank didn't want to scare the shit out of the kid, but he couldn’t let Connor hurt himself or any officers because he was attacking everything that breathed. He needed Connor to know— he’d stop if he just knew it was Hank— 

 

Instinct takes over all conscious thought, and he pulls Connor closer, one arm abandoning the death hold to grip the back of his head instead, fiercely pulling him closer until he could feel the side of Connor’s face against his throat, his restraining grip shifting until Connor was pressed firmly against him in an involuntary hug rather than a disarming hold. Connor scrambled for a moment longer before his flailing hands came up and fisted the lapels of Hank’s jacket and he abruptly stilled. 

 

Hank could hear Connor’s thirium pump whirring away furiously while the kid practically vibrated in his arms, the grip on his jacket tightening as he worked through whatever terror had fogged over his mind. He took the opportunity to feed his fingers through Connor’s soft hair, the other arm holding him tight. “I got you. Quit fightin’, I got you.” He eased his hold from desperate to reassuring, tucking Connor’s head under his chin, scraggly beard rubbing against his temple. 

 

Connor gave a violent full body shudder from his toes to his teeth, shoulders curling forward into the hold, pressing back against Hank. His mouth opened but no words came. 

 

Fear had already grown roots in Hank’s stomach, but now it’s becoming overwhelming. Connor rarely showed his fears and emotions— since he had gone deviant he had a bad habit of just bottling all his fears up until they spilled over— but now Connor was terrified— and Hank can’t fucking blame him. If he couldn’t see or hear, then the kid had no way of knowing where he was, who was there, or if he was safe. All he had was touch and smell— two rather unreliable senses. Hank needed to get him help, but until he could get Connor calm, there would be no point if he just skyrocketed his stress. 

 

So Hank stays on the floor, hand cupping the back of Connor’s head firmly, beard against his cheek. So long as Connor knew who he was— 

 

“Hank?” Connor’s voice is glitching a tad, and a little too soft.

 

He nods, the movement scratching against Connor’s temple again. 

 

Connor lets out a very shaky breath, a human gesture he had actually picked up from Markus of all people. 

 

“The perp? Is he in custody?” 

 

Hank nods again. Wishes he could communicate better but settles with what they have. Hank gives him a small squeeze before slowly shifting, manhandling Connor to his feet. The kid followed, unwilling to lose contact with Hank. They needed to get the kid patched up-- he can't see how much damage Connor had acquired, if he was in danger of shutdown. The sooner he could get Connor's senses back online, the less Connor would suffer from the anxiety of being unaware. 

 

Hank gives him a tight proper hug, fingers buried in the kid’s hair. It was a silent promise to look after him— to keep him safe while the kid couldn’t do it himself. Until he figured out a way to communicate with him properly, their trust would have to be enough. 

 

Connor’s tight grasp on him assures him that it would be. 

  
  



End file.
